Blue Moon

15

It took three rounds of shampoo to get my hair clean. The stuff on my body didn't seem to want to come off unless I scrubbed. There is that point in the middle of the back that you just can't do yourself. It is one of the few areas that married people have an edge on us single folk. I finally had to turn the shower on as high as it would go and just let it pound the middle of my back. The stuff finally sloughed off and floated down the drain.

The stuff clung like nothing I'd ever had to clean off before. That included real rotting corpses and zombies. None of it had ever been as tough to get rid of as Damian's ... fluids.

Cherry was the one who knocked on the door and brought in a pile of clothes. I didn't like any of them. Too much leather for my taste. It took two trips back and forth, wrapped in nothing but a towel, to find clothes that I was willing to wear. There was one red leather bodysuit that seemed to be nothing but straps. It might be interesting for private use just between Jean-Claude and myself, but wearing it in public was definitely out.

I ended up in a short-sleeved, black velvet, midriff top with such a low neckline that it took a special bra under it just so the bra didn't show. Jean-Claude had kindly packed the bra. It was one of those uplifting ones, and if there was one thing my chest didn't need, it was more lift; but it was also the only bra I had access to that plunged low enough that it didn't show with the shirt. There was a velvet dress that would have needed the bra for its neckline, too. Jean-Claude had been a busy little vampire.

Everything fit perfectly, if you were willing to wear it. I picked a leather skirt as the lesser of evils. There was a pair of thigh-high black boots that zipped in the back. The tops of the boots were wide and stiff and open at the back. The fronts of the boots came up to the absolute limit of my legs, brushing my groin at odd moments if I walked wrong. The boots had to have been custom-made for me. I didn't remember Jean-Claude ever measuring me for shoes. He'd held pretty much every inch of me in his hands at one point or another. Apparently, that had been enough.

But the leather skirt had belt loops for my shoulder holster, and the velvet midriff had enough sleeves that the shoulder straps didn't dig into any bare flesh. The side straps felt a little strange against my bare sides when I moved, but it was doable. Of course, there was no way to wear an inner-pants holster in the skirt.

I had added the spine sheath down my back and both wrist sheaths. The spine sheath showed underneath the midriff, but hey, they expected us to be armed. Frankly, I wanted a second gun with me. One of the good things about flying on Jean-Claude's private jet as opposed to an airline was that I had several guns to choose from.

It was a mini-Uzi on a shoulder strap. It had a clip that attached to the back of the skirt so it didn't swing around too much, but you could pull it out into the open with one hand.

When I put it on, Asher's only comment had been, "We can't kill them, Anita."

I looked at the weapons that I'd laid out on one of the last clean spaces of floor. There was an American Derringer, a second Browning Hi-Power, a sawed-off shotgun, and one pump-action shotgun.

I looked up at him. "I didn't bring everything I had."

"So glad to hear it," he said. "But the machine gun is a killing weapon, nothing more."

"The reason I'm in this outfit is because you said we need to make a good show. Well, we can't cause harm from a distance. We can't spread corruption with any of your bites. What the hell are we going to do, Asher? What can we possibly do that will impress them?" I swung the Uzi into my left hand, pointing it at the ceiling. "If there's anyone with him tonight that we can kill, I'll kill them with this."

"And you think that will impress or frighten Colin?"

"Have you ever seen a vampire cut in half by one of these?" I asked.

Asher seemed to think about that for a few seconds as if he'd seen so many horrible things that he just wasn't sure. Finally, he shook his head. "No, I have not."

"Well, I have." I let the gun swing back to the small of my back. "It impressed me."

"Did you do it?" he asked, his voice soft.

I shook my head. "No, just saw it done."

Jamil knelt beside me. He was wearing something that had started life as a black T-shirt but had been cut so severely at the neck, arms, and midriff that it looked more like a wishful thought than a shirt. It covered his nipples, and that was about it. But his upper body was muscular and impressive nearly bare. We were going for impressive tonight. He'd gotten to keep his black jeans and I was jealous. But Jamil didn't belong to Jean-Claude, so there'd been no time to have some piece of leather specially made. Truthfully, I hadn't been a hundred percent certain Jamil was even going to come with us. Not only was Jamil coming but so was Richard. Surprise, surprise. Jamil took an armload of clothes for Richard to choose from. Shang-Da was coming along as well, and he needed to change. Though he, like Jamil, had never belonged to Jean-Claude intimately enough to have specially made clothes. So it was whatever they could find in his suitcase. Happy hunting.

16

Damian had refused to share a shower with Asher even though they were both dirty and would need someone to help scrape the stuff from the harder-to-reach places. I'd suggested they share a shower because they were both guys. I knew that Asher was bisexual, but I still had a hard time wrapping my Midwestern upbringing around the fact that it didn't matter what sex Asher shared a shower with, he saw both as sexual objects. I knew it, and it didn't really bother me, but every once in a while, the knowledge surprised me. I don't know why.

Asher came out of the shower with nothing but a towel knotted at his waist. Damian went into the shower. The last of the night. Jason had helped Asher scrape the harder-to-reach places. Jason didn't tease the vampire. He just went in, helped him clean up, and got out. I'd actually wondered, after Jason's little confession, if he would tease men the same way he teased women. Apparently not.

The scars on Asher's chest were very visible. As he walked, the scars on his right thigh flashed from the towel. The rest of him was a pale golden perfection. He'd once known what it was like to walk into any room and have people gasp at his beauty. People still gasped, but not for the same reasons.

Zane and Cherry were being very careful not to look at him. They kept their faces blank, but their discomfort screamed how they felt.

Asher's face was bland, as if he didn't notice, but I knew he did.

Jason didn't look away. He'd pulled on a pair of leather pants but waited on the shirt and boots because he still had to help Damian flake the gunk off his skin. He sat on one of the coffins, swinging his bare feet, looking at me. His eyes flicked to the vampire, then back to me.

Oh, hell. Who died and made me den mother? You'd think hanging around with this many preternatural studly guys would mean there was a lot of sex, and sexual tension was in the air a lot, but more than sex, was pain. I don't know if it was because I was a girl, or what, but I ended up doing a hell of a lot more hand-holding than any of the guys. Maybe it was a girl thing. I certainly didn't think of myself as particularly compassionate. So why was it me walking across the floor to the vampire?

Asher was kneeling in front of the trunk. His back was smooth and almost perfect, only a few trailing scars where the holy water had dripped down his side. His golden hair hung thick and wet, water trailing in silver lines down his back. There weren't enough towels, so the guys were forgoing a second towel for the hair.

I took the towel I'd used for my hair from the back of the desk chair. I'd put it there so it could dry. I went to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, lowering his head, trying to get the wet hair to cover his scarred face. The gesture was automatic, no thinking required, and it hurt my heart to see him do it.

If we'd been lovers, I'd have licked the water off his chest, caressing my tongue down the deep scars, maybe even slid a hand under the towel. But we weren't lovers, and I'd never seen him nude. I didn't know what was under the towel. He'd told me once that he was still fully functional, but that didn't really tell me what he looked like under the towel. And as comfortable as I was with him, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. If it was as bad as his chest, I was almost sure I didn't want to see. Yes, I admit there was a small part of me that did want to know for sheer curiosity's sake.

I did the best I could. I laid my face against the roughness of his right cheek. "What are you going to wear?"

He sighed and leaned his face into me. One hand touched my hand, sliding my arm across his damp chest. "I think we shall need to shock them. I shall wear very little."

I moved back enough to see his face. He kept my hand pressed to his chest, resting on the smooth perfection of his left side. "You sure about that?"

He smiled but blinked at the same time so I couldn't read his eyes. He patted my hand and let me go. "I am accustomed to the effect I have on people, ma cherie. I have had centuries to use it to my advantage."

I stood and draped the towel over his shoulders. "You'll need this for your hair."

He grabbed the ends of the towel like a shawl, pressing the cloth to his nose and mouth. "It smells of the sweet scent of your skin."

I touched a strand of that heavy, gold hair. "You say the nicest things." I stared down into that face, into the frosted blue of his eyes, and felt something low in my body tighten. A sudden flexing of lust that made me catch my breath. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it's just a gesture, a turn of the head, and you catch your breath, your body reacts on a level that you can't control. When it happens, you pretend it didn't, you hide it. Heaven forbid that the object of such instant desire should know what you're thinking. But tonight, I let it show in my eyes. I let him see how he moved me.

He took my hand and laid a gentle kiss against my skin. "Ma cherie. "

Jason came to stand near us, leaning against the nearest coffin as he'd leaned against the desk. "Damn," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"You've seen me naked, or almost. We've been up close and very personal." He sighed. "And you didn't look at me like that."

"Jealous?" I asked.

He seemed to think about that for a second, then nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

Asher laughed and it was touchable, caressable, like a feather trailing down your skin held by a knowledgeable hand. "In that smooth, perfect body, in the full bloom of your youth, alive and breathing, and you are jealous of me. How lovely."

A knock on the door saved us from further discussion. I drew the Browning and put my back to the wall near the door. "Who is it?"

"It's Verne."

I parted the drape and looked out. He seemed to be alone. I opened the door and ushered him inside. The moment his back was to me, I pressed the gun barrel into his back and kicked the door closed.

He froze. "What's up?" he asked.

"You tell us," I said.

"Anita," Asher said.

"No, he's the Ulfric. He's supposed to have his pack under solid control."

I felt his ribs expand through the gun barrel. "I can smell the shit in the carpet, the sheets. Colin pay a visit?"

I shoved the barrel tight enough into his back to leave a bruise. "He left a present."

"He gave us one of his presents once," Verne said. "I know what I'm smelling in here because I held Erin's hand while he rotted to death."

"Why should I believe you?" I asked.

"If you have a problem with Colin's people, why pull a gun on me?"

"One of your wolves lured Nathaniel away and delivered him to the vampires."

Again I felt the movement through the gun barrel as he turned his head to look at the bed. "Why isn't he dead?"

"That's our business," I said.

He nodded. "Which of my wolves delivered your cat to Colin?"

"Mira," I said.

"Shit," he said. "I knew she was pissed that Richard had stopped seeing her, but I never thought she'd go over to the vampires."

Asher walked to us. "By rules of hospitality, you can be held responsible for the actions of your pack."

"What can I do to make up for this breach of protocol?" The words sounded way too formal for Verne's down-home drawl.

I leaned into him because the gun couldn't get any closer without going into his body. Had to make my point somehow. "How do I know you didn't tell her to do it?"

"I told you what he did to Erin. Colin said we were getting above ourselves, forgetting that vampires are more powerful than any animal. How the hell did you cure your leopard?"

"His name's Nathaniel," I said.

Verne took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "How did you cure Nathaniel?"

I flicked my eyes past Verne's body to Asher. He gave the slightest of nods, and I backed up enough steps that I'd be out of reach in case Verne was upset about the gun. But I kept the gun pointed at him, because I was still closer than ten feet. Even a normal man armed with just a knife can close that distance quicker than most people can upholster a gun.

"At great risk to ourselves," Asher said.

"How?" Verne asked. He moved towards the bed as if I was of no importance. Asher told him how we'd healed Nathaniel.

"And neither of you were poisoned by it?" Verne asked.

"Damian was affected," Asher said.

Verne searched the room. "You mean the red-haired vampire?"

Asher nodded.

"I can hear him in the bathroom. He should be dead."

"Yes, he should be," Asher said.

Verne turned and looked at me then. "Our vargamor said she felt your power tonight. Said you conjured up some sort of spell."

"I don't know the term vargamor," I said.

"A pack's wise woman or wise man, a witch usually, but not always. Sometimes just a psychic. Most packs don't bother with them anymore. How did you save the vampire once he started to rot?"

I holstered the Browning. One, I couldn't keep the gun naked in my hands forever; two, I was beginning to believe Verne. "I'm a necromancer, Verne. Damian's a vampire. I healed him."

His eyes narrowed. "Just like that?"

I laughed. "No, not just like that. We damn near didn't save him, but we did it."

"Could you cure one of my people?"

"Did Colin do one of your people tonight?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, but if we stand with you against him, he will."

"Why would you stand with us on this?" I asked.

"Because I hate that bloodsucking son of a bitch."

"If that's true, then Mira broke pack law," Jason said.

Verne nodded. "Normally, I'd kick her ass. She disobeyed me, but she injured you. Your grievence takes precedence." He glanced at Asher, then at me, as if he wasn't a hundred percent sure who to ask permission of. "What can my pack do to make this right between us?"

I looked at him, head to one side. I didn't like the idea that one of his wolves had betrayed Nathaniel. It made me not trust him. But I understood why Mira was pissed. Richard had dumped her. A woman scorned and all that.

"First, delay the greeting ceremony," I said. "We're going to be ass deep in vampires; there won't be time for anything else tonight."

Verne nodded. "Done."

"And I want Mira's head in a basket," I said.

"We need a place to meet Colin," Asher said.

"Our lupanar is ready for company," Verne said.

"Most generous," Asher said.

It was generous. Maybe too generous. "You understand that we aren't going to kill Colin for this. That whatever happens tonight -¨C unless he attacks us, forces us to defend ourselves -¨C we'll be leaving in a few days, and Colin will still be Master of the City."

"You mean if I help you hurt him, he may hold a grudge?" Verne said.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Erin was a good kid. He wasn't even one of the young ones that had gone up against the vampires. They picked him because he was one of my wolves."

"Nathaniel said that Mira had been paid to bring one of our animals to Colin," I said.

"It sounds like him." Verne's hands balled into fists, and his power moved through the cabin like a line of heat. "I've wanted him to pay for what happened to Erin for ten years, but I haven't had the power to go up against him."

"You don't want him dead?" I asked, and I sounded surprised.

"Colin, for the most part, leaves us alone. But better yet, he can't call wolves. If we kill him, a new master will move in, maybe one that can control wolves. Maybe one that is a bigger, meaner son of a bitch. Dead would be great, but not until I know what it would cost my pack."

"The devil you know or the devil you don't," I said.

Verne looked at me for a second, then nodded. "Yes."

"Great," I said, "let's turn up the fire under this particular devil and roast his cojones."

For one of the few times on this trip, everyone seemed to be in agreement. I was used to killing vampires, not punishing them, because I'd learned a long time ago that you either killed monsters or left them the fuck alone. Once you pull on their tail, metaphorically speaking, you're just never quite sure how they're going to react. Sorry, cancel that. I knew exactly how Colin would react. The question was how much blood would be spilled and could we possibly pull this off without getting some of our people killed. I didn't give a damn if we killed some of Colin's people, in fact, I was sort of looking forward to it.